


Mini Snapshots of Familial Ties

by frayingthreads



Series: Becoming a Whitebeard: Integrating Ace into a Yonko Crew [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Portgas D. Ace-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frayingthreads/pseuds/frayingthreads
Summary: Ace's childhood was steeped in a culture that was largely shaped by a trio of brothers. Now that he has an even bigger family, he might just find himself redefining normalcy for everyone involved. Guess assimilating into a new crew wasn't as simple as he'd thought. Features short oneshots of Ace trying to be a good brother. Could be a companion piece to Snapshot of Familial Ties (currently only completely available on FF.net).
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco & Portgas D. Ace, Portgas D. Ace & Shirohige | Whitebeard | Edward Newgate, Portgas D. Ace & Thatch
Series: Becoming a Whitebeard: Integrating Ace into a Yonko Crew [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788724
Comments: 17
Kudos: 190





	1. Social Learning - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I generally only post works on FF.net (you can fine me there as Fraying Threads), but I've been suggested to cross-post here, so I'll be taking a while to carry over most of my works here, particularly for the longer fics.
> 
> So, hello to my current readers and HI to any new ones here.
> 
> This series will feature short one-shots. It will be updated only when inspiration strikes (or ideas from any of you, if I find them feasible). I thought of lumping them under the Snapshots of Familial Ties (not yet sure if I should bring that 16-chapter fic over. That would take a while), but figured that series should only feature the longer one-shots. This makes things neater and I'd have someplace to dump the shorter stories.
> 
> Therefore, I welcome you to...Mini Snapshots of Familial Ties. I'm not that creative with titles, apparently. Do enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

“What are you doing?”

Thatch tried to lean away from the sudden closeness of his youngest brother so he could meet the other’s gaze. Ace met his eyes with a frown, seeming oblivious to the other’s confusion.

“Your food,” the fire-user said, as if that cleared everything. “I’m sorry this happened.”

Huh?

Thatch didn’t bother to look at the scattered remnants of his dinner around him. It was his own fault, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened. He had been run ragged the entire day when the Moby Dick had been attacked by a rogue pirate crew intent on Oyaji’s head. The assault must have been planned, for his home was suddenly surrounded on all sides by a fleet of ships (nothing to compared to theirs, but it was a mighty number still). It had taken the crew hours to wipe them clean out, with Marco taking the lead to leave a few alive to spread word of their triumph.

Needless to say, dinner had been delayed that night. It took every ounce of his skill and willpower to throw something together with his division to ensure everyone was fed within the hour. Seas above knew they’d just up and crash without food if he took too long. And, as head chef, Thatch decided to have his last, after ensuring that none of his family members had been left behind.

Alas, as fate would have it, he tripped over his own feet as he made his way to the kitchen tables, sending the last of his prepared foods skidding across the floor. Already his shoulders were drooping in disappointment at the waste (at his loss). He knew he was too tired to cook something else up, so he guessed cleaning the kitchens and then a night’s rest on an empty stomach was how the rest of the evening would go.

At least, until he was suddenly accosted by the heated yet fresh warmth of one fire-user, who was presently holding the commander against his chest like a half-grown kitten trying to hold a lion cub within its still tiny paws. Ace was on his knees, one of his arms wrapped around the brunette tight, and his other free hand was ruffling at his let-down hair roughly. Thatch tried to think back to the last time this had happened since the kid joined the crew months ago, but he came up empty.

“Uh, Ace?”

The pirate in question blinked at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” the commander couldn’t but say with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard something crash as I was walking by.” The younger pirate’s grey eyes turned sad. “Was that your dinner?”

Thatch inwardly snorted. Trust the kid to look utterly pathetic at the thought of wasted food. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I was careless. It happens.”

To his surprise, the kid didn’t bristle at the endearment (and yes, it was a fine endearment, no matter how many times his youngest brother protested). Ace instead dragged him closer, enough that he could smell the fresh scent of green tea mixed with the freckled pirate’s own distinctive earthy smell of crushed pine. When the younger pirate started rubbing at his arm, Thatch decided to try again.

“Ace.”

The answer was sombre. “Yeah?”

“This is where you explain what you’re doing,” he said, taking care to infuse his words with as much gentleness as he could because the kid was (terribly) prone to misunderstandings.

Ace looked at him in what might have been curiosity, before some sort of realisation dawned on him. “Oh, I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” he muttered. Then, as if a light bulb lit up in his head, the kid groaned to himself. “Why am I so stupid? It’s because you’re still on the floor, isn’t it? And the floor’s dirty too. I’m so sorry, Thatch. I’m not used to this yet. You could have said something too! Come on, let’s get you off the floor.”

Thatch allowed himself to be pulled to his feet before he was dragged over to the kitchen tables. Like earlier, the fire-user immediately curled into his side the moment he was seated.

Alright then. This was fine. This was not at all weird. Except it was.

“Ace?” he tried again, still feeling completely and utterly lost. “I appreciate the affection, but I kind of need to clean the kitchens.”

“You have to feel better first!” There was a pregnant pause. After which the kid straightened to look at him worriedly. “Am I still doing this wrong? That’s it, isn’t it? You haven’t relaxed since we sat down either.” Ace let out a sigh, his boyish features twisting into a disappointed frown. “I’m sorry. I’m no good at this. I’ve never been good at things like this.”

Thatch took the opportunity to pull himself away when the teen loosened his hold. He studied the somewhat downcast look on his brother’s face intently, as if trying to unravel the newest puzzle presented to him. But, for all he tried, he couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. How did he explain why he was suddenly accosted with a half-hug by a brother who had never once reciprocated any form of physical affection since his initiation into the crew?

“I’m sorry,” Ace was saying again. He was now staring at his lap. “You’d always hold me that way whenever I’m upset. When I heard the crash and saw the food…I know I would have been really upset if I were in your shoes, and I’m always told that I should try to be more empathetic…? Is that the word? And, anyway, I wanted to make you feel better, the same way you’ve always done for me…” he trailed off. His voice lowered into faint mutterings near the end. “Figures I can’t even do that much.”

Thatch felt his eyes widen as the words sank in (into his darn heart too). Ace wanted to…? Understanding flooded him and the commander could have hit himself for missing the gestures the kid was trying to imitate. Whenever an incident happened and he was around, he always tried to cheer the kid up. And it became increasingly clear how the teen thrived under physical affection, how his eyes lit up whenever someone dragged him closer, how he would eventually relax under their watchful eyes. Not that he made it easy. He’d always grumble and complain that they weren’t respecting his boundaries.

“You were trying to cheer me up,” he said slowly, tasting the words in his mouth as if to see how that made sense, “the same way I do for you.”

Ace nodded glumly. “I always feel better when you do that arm technique thing. Guess I’m not practiced enough to make it effective for you.”

A sudden wave of warmth swept through the fourth commander. ‘Arm technique’? _‘Arm technique’_? The kid honestly thought it was a strategic move to calm another. Did he have not the faintest inklings that how he was treated was largely a result of his tender age? How could someone be so obtuse and yet so terribly charming? Thatch wanted to hide his face in his hands. He was going to melt into a puddle of goo if he wasn’t careful.

“Thatch? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he choked out. “I’m completely fine. I’m perfect.”

He gestured at the teen to come closer. “Come on, you aren’t done making me feel better.”

Ace tilted his head in adorable confusion. “But I’m not good at it,” he protested weakly. “It didn’t work. You don’t have to force yourself to…”

“I was too tired for it to work properly,” Thatch said without much heed. “Come on. I need it.”

And yes, he did. Because if he didn’t get that side-hug now, he was going to drag the unwitting fire-user into a bone-crushing embrace that not even Marco would be able to extract him from.

Ace just managed to escape that fate when he inched closer, his arm circling around the commander in slight hesitation. “Is this better?”

Thatch leaned his weight onto his youngest brother. “It’s perfect,” he murmured.

Damn, the kid was right. No one was prepared for him to join the crew. Thatch thought his heart might just die.


	2. Self-Discovery - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Hope all of you are staying safe! Here's a brief one-shot on Marco's point-of-view. Just a drabble I had.
> 
> And thanks all for your reviews, favourites, and follows! Darn, you guys are encouraging. Unfortunate though it is, I will have to take a momentary break as my exams are coming out. So enjoy this for now, yeah? :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

If there was one thing Marco could lay claim to with complete confidence, it was that he possessed a greater ability to take things in stride than his family (sans his Captain) ever did.

It didn't matter if the Moby Dick were up in flames, or if his foolish siblings were planning yet another attempt to stage a riot against his rules, or if he himself had been flitting across the ship for days without sleep. He always strove to be at his best. And Marco the Phoenix at his best meant consistency, discipline, due diligence, and, above all, an assuredness that he had long learnt worked wonders to calm those around him.

It came to a point that his tight grip on his spirit, mind, and soul became a _reputation_ – an expectation, even. If anything went wrong? Get Marco. Siblings brawling near the storerooms? Marco should check it out. An incoming storm? Marco would lead his division and all the commanders. Everything would be fine as long as he was there. An intruder? Rough siblings going too far and were fool enough to mess with Whitebeard's moustache? A downed family member? Too much raspberry and too little ice cream? Marco, Marco, Marco, Marco.

Lucky for them, the blonde commander loved his family to bits. He was so fiercely fond of them that he couldn't imagine waking in a world without their irritating mugs chasing after his figurative tail for every little thing or another. Beyond all the troubles they never failed to give him, the blonde would muse to himself every now and then, he knew he was in their care as much as they were in his. Out of everyone in this wretched world, here he was, with a ragtag crew of idiots who loved him.

And so he bore all the nonsense they would so lovingly throw his way. Through the screams of his name to his wicked cackles as he high kicked them into the sea, Marco learnt over time to accept his position as first division commander to the strongest man on the seas. He would never reduce that power-imbalance between himself and his siblings, no matter how he tried. Neither would he succeed at shedding that commanding air of self-assuredness about him. But that tremendous weight of his duties on his shoulders? He never tried to shrug that pain-in-the-neck burden off. It kept his silly, silly family safe, after all.

So, when a particular rookie pirate captain was dragged onto the Moby Dick (only kicking and screaming when he later regained consciousness), all Marco needed was his father's nod and he moved to make the kid as comfortable as he could. He took it in stride when the little brat threw everything he did in his face. Didn't even blink an eye, if he said so himself. He didn't understand why Whitebeard was so taken with this pirate. He couldn't for the life of him even imagine how they could turn such a feisty brat like Ace into a beloved brother. But Marco had seen many miracles across his life of piracy. He wasn't foolish enough to dismiss this as beneath his regard yet. Not when his father was so gently insistent. (And Marco would never admit that the fierceness in Ace's stormy grey eyes captivated him.)

With his duty firm in mind, he brushed off the insults (as sad as they were), the jeers (the kid tried, really), the glowers (his freckles did absolutely _nothing_ to help him), and even steeled himself for the tears. For all that he was a cocky rookie upstart, Ace was only a teenage child. Marco was no saint. But even he knew the pressure his family was forcing on the kid was a little much. He refused to think what his actions would mean for him if the kid became family.

And, lo and behold, Ace did cry. The tears had been slow to collect at his eyes, as if the kid were trying his hardest to keep them at bay. But like gathered rain in shadowed clouds, they too had to fall. They dripped onto his reddened, freckled cheeks, leaving behind a trail of damning evidence that Ace no longer had the strength but to buckle under the immense strain. Marco could still recall the memory, the image as vividly fresh as the salty tears that kept on streaming down his now-brother's face. But he still ended up surprised despite expecting this outcome. What startled him – what kicked his carefully balanced emotions out of order – was the unexpected tug in his heart at the sight.

It was nearing the end of three long months. A near solid 100 days during which Ace refused to give in. He had let up somewhere in the second month, and the commander had made the mistake of assuming his fight was burning out of fuel. Marco would later forever deny his astonishment when the kid suddenly clammed up. Ace began to fight even harder. Started to pump in more tempestuous rage into his every action. It was only later that the first commander saw it for what it was: Ace's last desperate attempts to break free from them. Like a cornered man who fought with all he had despite accepting his inevitable defeat.

When Ace finally collapsed to his hands and feet, crying all the while that he'd become one of them ( _"I'll join you, okay? I'll join you, you cruel, cruel jerks." A desperately choked sob. Shaking hands tearing at messy raven hair. "I'll join you– please, please, stop doing this to me. We're family, right? Stop it, please!"_ ), Marco too understood the source of his misgivings: he felt guilty.

His first thought narrowed its suspect on his heart. He had gone out of his way to get to know Ace, after all. He'd attempted to put himself in the younger pirate's shoes and had tried one-sided conversations with the kid that soon turned into a two-party team. He had gone as far as to observe the kid for hours on end to sieve out possible ways to engage with him further. It was nigh on impossible to deny that inherent instinct for human connection when one spent so much time on another.

But, just as quickly as that thought came and went, another slammed itself to the forefront of his mind with such an intensity he felt his breath leave him. A torrent of emotions swept through him in that instant. He imagined his own brothers held against their will on a rival ship and could immediately feel a wave of outrage at the thought of them joining _somebody else_. They were _his_. His to protect. His to hold close. His to love. Just as he was as firmly nested close to their hearts. Just the idea of anyone else taking residence there made his Phoenix's feathers rustle in restless indignation and even sharp betrayal.

And, as he had looked upon the crumbled form of one Portgas D. Ace ( _his brother now_ , his mind had whispered silkily into his ears), Marco had felt such inward self-disgust that no amount of practised self-control could hide it. Because now, in name and already nesting in his heart, Ace was his. Maybe he wasn't Ace's brother yet, but he had known this would change soon the moment the freckled pirate raised his watery eyes to meet his. Those same grey eyes that, just months ago were ablaze in smoky grey, now sought his desperately for approval.

For acceptance.

That, Marco thought with fleeting relief, he could do.

It was then, he swore to himself as he not so gently brushed his siblings aside to get to Ace, that he would do whatever was in his power to never see Ace cry again. He would never be part of the reason Ace was upset, never be the one to corner the kid ( _and, oh, how his Phoenix had keened when they later discovered Ace was only 17 years old_ ) till he felt alone and afraid ever again.

Ace – who had knocked off his carefully held composure, who had forced him to question himself and what he stood for, who did things that not even Marco could understand despite his years as an older brother to hundreds of siblings – was his brother he would protect with all his strength.

He had done his youngest brother wrong, after all. Yet, for all that he hid behind his usual air of self-assuredness, Marco felt guiltiest when he sometimes mulled over his life in the dark. Because, for the life of him, he couldn't regret his part in convincing Ace to join his family.

At the end of the day, Marco the Phoenix could no longer deny that he was truly a wretched man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is all! I always wondered what Marco, for all that he's stereotypically seen as the reasonable, wise older brother, thought of Ace's manner of initiation into the crew.
> 
> What are your thoughts? Do let me know through your reviews or comments, yeah? And do let me know if you've any suggestions as prompts too! I feel my muse running out of juice... :(
> 
> P.S. Also, I have decided not to bring all my fics from FF.net over. I'll just bring over the incomplete ones. It's really too much work at the moment. If you're interested, you can find me there as Fraying Threads!


	3. Familial Love – Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked for Whitebeards' POV, so here it is!
> 
> Cross-Posted on FF.net. I do prefer FF.net over AO3. I almost forgot I hadn't published this here. Oops.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

Edward Newgate had lived a long life for a pirate.

He had seen far too many things – wondrous things, awe-inspiring things, things that clenched the very core of his heart, and things that filled him with rage so great his sight was blinded by a splash of iridescent red and a whirl of darkness – in his life.

Edward had loved, lived, and lost. Had laughed, grieved, and cried.

He had spent his childhood tearing after his right to live. His youth, he had chased after passing dreams. In his adulthood, he had fought for every breath. He had struck and parried and leaped and dodged, summoning whatever strength he had in himself to culminate in blows so earth-shatteringly strong his muscles threatened to tear and his bones to break.

The whispers began when he hit his middle-aged years. He was walking down a crowded street in a quiet village tucked away in one of the many corners of the New World. Poor marine presence. Worryingly high pirate traffic. He was minding his own business, keen to purchase new wares for his run-down ship, maybe add a little life to it. He had, after all, just about left his former crew to fill that hole in his heart that had remained so achingly empty throughout the years. But as life always was, it didn't go according to plan. A deaf-inducing explosion, a burst of dazzling blue flames and the gleam of the brightest sky-blue eyes he had seen later, and Edward was returning to his ship with a new crew mate in tow.

As he left, the whispers rose in the air like the soft roiling wind across calm waters. _Newgate…Strongest man in the world._

_Strongest._

_No one can defeat him._

_No one._

_Edward Newgate. Strongest man in the world._

It would have been flattering, but Edward never wanted to be the strongest man in the world. He wanted peace. He wanted to be loved. And perhaps his desire for love was so great that he soon amassed a large family like no other on both land and seas. He went from an orphan to a father of so many children even he couldn't believe himself. He couldn't even count the number of times he had to lock himself in his room, his throat closing up on him, as he worked himself into a mess of panic. He was a _father_. How could those brats suddenly decide to call him that? Which self-respecting brat would _do_ that? _A father, father, father, father, father, father…_ What did that even mean?!

_Oyaji! He cut off my hair while I was asleep! Do something!_

_You're a good Oyaji, yoi._

_Oyaji, oyaji, oyaji…_

It became easier over the years. He learnt to become the voice of reason (even when his ageing pirate heart berated him for not inciting chaos), the value of fairness (he had had to when his children squabbled over the pettiest of things and _demanded_ he take a side), and to harden and gentle his heart at the same time (it surprised him in its intensity the pain of punishing his adopted children).

And Edward kept on learning. He damaged properties, lied through his skin, and wiped the souls out of his enemies with little remorse. Because on one fateful evening, on the hills of a ravaged island that no longer bore life, he bid his final farewells to two bright, wonderful brats whose greatest crime was to trim his moustache while he slept. Because he realised too late that nothing hurt more than burying the brilliant eyes and crooked smiles of his beloved children. He learnt to protect what was his no matter the cost.

As his family grew, so did concerns that the family was becoming too large. They couldn't protect themselves when so many were so weak. When they relied so terribly on their aging Captain alone. And so his older and stronger children trained hard to protect the ones they too had come to love. They became an extension of Edward himself. They fought with determination in their eyes and familial love in their hearts. Struck down enemies, threats, dangers– all for the sake of love.

The whispers soon changed like the tempestuous winds of the New World.

_Strongest man in the world, Edward Newgate._

_The family protects their own._

_Harm one of them, and you would have harmed all of them._

Edward knew his spreading reputation was not enough. His children still fell. They were then avenged. His mark – that of a _father_ , not of a pirate crew – was plastered on each of his brats. It marked them as _his_ , like a wolf drawing clear territorial boundaries. Cross it and bear the consequences.

But then there were those who did and would be welcomed into the flailing, but welcoming, arms of his family. How could he not when he caught that same well-worn desire for acceptance in strangers across the seas? How could he have turned them away? What if they could have become someone important to him? How many of his children were out there, but had yet to cross paths with him?

Ah. Another thing he had not known to look out for was how soft he became in his older years.

When he stumbled upon lost souls – like that fire brat – whose very eyes screamed for protection and love, he pushed aside his sense of justice and forced his name upon the child. He hardened his heart when the child – when _Ace –_ railed at him for his freedom. He tolerated the attacks, the curses, the desperate attempts to be break free. He didn't even blink when the anger in those striking grey eyes – as sharp and clouded as a coming storm – soon dissipated to gather into tears of frustration.

Edward had lived a long life, after all. The world was cruel and unjust. Corruption, slavery, social inequalities, exploitation, neglect… It was a terrible place to live in. The Marines wouldn't protect the people. Pirates fought for their own self-interests. The Revolutionary Army had a long way to go yet. Nothing was set in stone.

As a father, how could he allow this child to slip through his fingers and rush headfirst into untold suffering? Ace would not stop at him. He would move on to that serpent Kaido or that vain woman Big Mom if he could. They would snuff out the light – those brilliant eyes and crooked smile – out of him, like a puppeteer snapping the ropes of the doll, leaving the once beautiful life melting into tainted shadow.

Like so many of his children, Ace needed a home and a protector. Edward and his capable children would provide it. They would be the shelter, the weapon, and the strength that would give this soul the chance at reprieve.

This was how Edward loved.

And, at his crux of his pirate heart, Whitebeard tore into blood and washed the red off his halberd in protection of this treasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I'm not fond of writing from his perspective as I'm not good at handling his POV. No idea if this was OOC or not, but hey you asked and I delivered, and that's good enough for me.
> 
> Do review!


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